


Rage Rage Against the Dying of the Light

by QuickSilverFox3



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Feels, Character Death, Cole and His Dads, Gen, Hair Brushing, Heavy Angst, Helpful Cole (Dragon Age), Human Cole (Dragon Age), Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, Major Character Injury, Male Friendship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21532648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3
Summary: Cole is human, but he is still a spirit. As time goes on, his companions begin to fall... And Cole will be there to help them one more time.Tags will be updated with each chapter
Relationships: Blackwall & Cole
Kudos: 10





	Rage Rage Against the Dying of the Light

**Author's Note:**

> [ My Tumblr!](https://inkformyblood.tumblr.com) Requests are always welcome!
> 
> Not going to lie, I made myself extremely sad with this one. It was going to be my final whumptober piece but got too big. Updates should be fortnightly?? I'll try my best.

“Your hair’s getting long lad.” 

How long had it been? 

The path was damp beneath Cole’s knees, the sky above threatening another downpour but that didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered in this moment.

Blackwall laughed thickly, blood coating his teeth a rich red.

This… wasn’t right. This shouldn’t be happening.

It felt like it was just yesterday when Blackwall had picked Cole up, slung over his shoulder like a sack. 

* * *

Blackwall took off his breastplate when they were inside the walls of Skyhold, but his jerkin beneath still smelled of metal, scraps of hay floating downwards as Cole scrabbled for purchase.

Blackwall wouldn’t drop him, Cole knew this. He could feel the warmth of Blackwall’s grip around his waist and across his legs. But that didn’t stop him from gasping, a reflexive intake of air, jagged nails catching on the fabric as he grabbed at it.

“You okay lad?”

_ Should have asked before I picked him up, keep forgetting this is all so new for him. Don’t want to frighten him, Maker is Solas watching? _

“I’m okay,” Cole said reassuringly as he could, grabbing his hat as it finally succumbed to the call of the earth and fell from his head.

The worry ebbed away at his words, although it didn’t touch the tangled mess buried just beneath the surface, an old hurt covered with the steady beat of the Warden’s oath like a heartbeat. Cole wanted to help, but Blackwall said no. It was his hurt to deal with, his regrets to carry, and while he appreciated Cole trying, it wasn’t his problem to help with. 

Solas was easy to find, hurt standing out like a castle in a field of flowers. That was another hurt Cole couldn’t help, deep and all encompassing as the ocean. But he hadn’t told Cole to stop, so he would keep trying. If he only listened.

But Solas was content, mind filled with strange symbols Cole recognised and yet didn’t. None of the sharp pricks of worry that radiated through him when he thought Cole was hurt.

“Solas didn’t see,” Cole said. Blackwall’s stride slowed marginally, and Cole’s stomach lurched unpleasantly before he continued on.

“Thanks,” Blackwall grunted after a few more steps, and Cole smiled back, forgetting that Blackwall couldn’t see his face.

Sera’s laugh rang out like a bell as Blackwall carried him past the training yard, Cole barely able to catch the hiss of  _ Not jealous of him, definitely not. That looks comfy though. Nice and high up, good to throw things from -  _

World tipped around him, head light and woozy, swaying on his feet-

Blackwall’s hands steady on his upper arms, holding him upright.

“Why are we here?” Cole asked, blinking up at Blackwall. 

Horses nickered in their stables, safe and content, coats gleaming underneath the careful ministrations of Dennet. Cole glanced around the small yard, spying a blanket thrown across some bales of hay, a table resting against the far wall littered with wood scraps and a knife jammed into the surface. A small stool dominated the centre of the small space, and it was that single feature that dominated all of Cole’s attention. 

“You need a haircut. No-one else is gonna do it, so I am.”

Blackwall’s voice was gruff and matter of fact.

_ Lad looks like he’s been dragged through a hedge. Someone needs to do it, might as well be me, not like I haven’t done this before. _

Cole saw the tips of his ears turn pink as Cole held the hair which fell in front of his face up, blinking up at him.

“Alright, sit yourself down.”

Cole lowered himself down, hand braced on the wood, and placed his hat on his lap, running his fingers over the worn brim. Blackwall moved to the table, picking up a pair of scissors, metal gleaming dully in the sunlight.

“Let me know if anything feels odd,” Blackwall warned, running his fingers through Cole’s hair, calluses rough but his touch was soft. Cole nodded, leaning into the new sensation with delight.

_ Maker, I’m in too deep now. _

Cole barely noticed the passage of time, lost in the feeling of rough hands passing through his hair and the snip of the scissors, cut strands floating around him like straw. The sun streamed through the window, catching the dust and turning the air into floating stars.

Blackwall placed one hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

_ Good lad. _

* * *

“Should get somewhere safe lad,” Blackwall murmured, eyes scanning the road reflexively, a lifetime of battle instincts serving him well even in his final moments.

“I am safe,” Cole said, voice wobbling despite himself, tears rolling down his cheeks. This was part of being human, this never ending pit of sorrow threatening to consume him. He’d felt it through people, felt how it was to be plunged into darkness with seemingly no hope of the sun ever rising again. He hadn’t known how terrible and all consuming that darkness could be. 

“I’m with you,” Cole told Blackwall, the man laughing despite the pain, despite himself, cradled in Cole’s arms.

“Good lad,” Blackwall coughed out, a rattling beginning somewhere deep in his chest, blood matting in his beard.

Cole hugged Blackwall close to chest as he died, a bleeding wound in his side, but no pain. Further down the road, a band of common bandits celebrated their triumphs late until the night, unaware of who they had ambushed on the road, unaware of who they had taken from Cole’s life. 

Rage burned in Cole’s chest as he watched them, the bandits never seeing the grieving figure in their midst. He was human now, had a body to upkeep, to feed and water and lie down somewhere dark when his eyes burned. But he was still a spirit of Compassion. And guilt was a powerful thing.

Blackwall… he carried a regret for his past actions for his entire life, never faltering in carrying the burden he made for himself, except in his final moments, thanks to Cole disobeying him one final time. 

Regret was a heavy weight to bear, emotion threatening to choke Cole, hands shaking. He didn’t know why. And yet Blackwall had carried it, had visited places that made even Varric balk and murmured words about guards, just to try and help others. And in doing so, he helped himself.

He gave the bandits Blackwall’s regret, and disappeared into the forest, carved wooden nug clutches to his chest and tears streaming down his cheeks.


End file.
